Breeding Lilacs out of the Dead Land
by buttercups3
Summary: Miles meets Nora, copes with growing dissatisfaction with the militia, and eventually attempts to assassinate Monroe and desert. Chapters feature different and sometimes multiple perspectives, but Miles and Nora are the main viewpoints. Rated T for foul language and hints of sex behind the scenes.
1. Chapter 1

It was probably only in the 80s, but Miles was uncomfortably hot, the underarms of his uniform soaked. He imagined little droplets of sweat congealing on his beard stubble, which he rubbed violently in irritation as he squinted at Jeremy in the afternoon sun.

Jeremy was saying something, but he just couldn't bring him self to care. They had reports of an internal disturbance in downtown Philly. They didn't know if it was the rebels again or just the basic bullshit anarchy that had become par for the course in the wake of the blackout, because, you know, people were crazy. Miles couldn't believe how just a few days of no power had led civilization to complete collapse…before he and Bass had tried to restore some semblance of order. Humans would tear themselves apart if you let them. That much was clear. But here in Philly on this sultry day in September they couldn't let people wrest away even a little control-not in the militia's own backyard.

Miles ran his hand down the center of his face smearing sweat and dirt, and he was quire sure, making him look like a motherless kid, who hadn't had a bath in weeks.

"We can't let these people shit in our backyard, Jeremy," Miles said suddenly. He had no idea if he was changing the subject, agreeing with his friend, or interrupting. He didn't care. "Fuck it's hot," he mumbled.

Jeremy was eying Miles with a sly smile. "So what are your orders, _sir_," he over-emphasized the sir to imbue it with a touch of irony. "No shitting in the backyard?"

"What?" Miles barked with unbridled annoyance. He shoved his sweaty hands in his pockets.

"Exactly. What the hell are you talking about?" Jeremy shook his head.

And then it happened. An enormous explosion in a shop down the street from the officers. They hit the deck behind a wagon as shards of glass rained down on the landscape like vengeful hail.

After a moment, the two friends eyed each other and leapt to their feet. People were screaming and a few appeared seriously injured. Miles jogged over toward the shop, where locals and militia joined together to immediately begin dumping buckets of water on the fire. He stopped along the way to offer his bandana to a women (who looked eerily like his deceased mother), gripping her calf in pain. He was helping her to tie it into place, when he heard:

"Sir!"

Miles squinted up to see a non-com saluting him. Instead of saluting back he kept tying, the panic passing and irritation resurfacing. "What is it, corporal?"

Suddenly the corporal thrust forward a person with a violent jerk. Miles stood up to get a better look.

"The bomber, sir. We found her detonating the bomb from behind that rise." He indicated said area, which was a surprising distance away.

"What-that rise?" Miles gestured in disbelief. "Impossible."

"No, sir. Sorry, sir," the corporal added, hating to contradict the general. "It's true."

Miles scrutinized more carefully the bomber, who was wearing a cap and considerable amount of clothing to hide what was clearly a small, curvy frame. She appeared to have dark skin and full lips.

He reached over and swept off her hat, while she glared murderously back at him. A mane of raven hair was unleashed. She shook it out with a defiant flourish. The woman appeared to be carved from marble-exquisitely gorgeous. Miles stood temporarily transfixed; in retrospect, his mouth might have been agape. Hopefully no visible drool. He was suddenly self-conscious of the grime on his face and the overripe smell emanating from his filthy uniform.

By this point, Jeremy had come over to observe the offender and took in Miles' ogling with a slight shake of his head.

"Sir? Should we shoot her on the spot?" the corporal asked, getting a little more into the situation. He put his hand eagerly on the Enfield musket strung over his shoulder.

"Corporal, you're dismissed," Miles replied with mild disgust. "Jeremy, hold her. She's dangerous. You never know, maybe she's got a bomb strapped to her." The corporal looked disappointed, but he snapped to attention, saluted with a polite 'General,' and scampered away.

"I'm not stupid enough to blow myself up," the gorgeous woman piped up.

"Uh-huh," Miles said drily.

Jeremy had her in a wrist-twisting grasp that looked painful for both of them. She squirmed, and Jeremy contorted.

"That was quite a bomb," Miles continued. He gazed off at the store, which was now only smoldering thanks to the impromptu firefighters' efforts, admiring her handiwork. He had to hand it to this woman-he hadn't seen a bomb like that since before the blackout. "You a rebel?" he asked pointedly. He took out his bowie knife to point at her chest. Intimidation never hurt.

She looked angrily down at his knife. "No," she answered huffily. "I don't work with amateurs."

"Oh. I see. Then who do you work with?" Miles smiled at Jeremy over her shoulder, who managed to return a grin despite his ongoing struggle to subdue the young bomber.

"I work for myself. I'm an…independent contractor. Nora Clayton," she finished.

Jeremy chimed in, "Nora Clayton, you're in a lot of trouble. People are executed for a lot less than blowing up a store on a crowded street."

"Didya kill the guy you were after?" Miles asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"I wasn't after a guy, I was after the store. My client wanted the competition taken out."

Miles nodded with a far off look again. "I gotta be honest here. I liked your bomb. Liked it a lot. Very nice indeed…" he trailed off, trying not to look Nora Clayton up and down. "You ever consider working for the militia?"

"I would never enlist in the militia. Fucking robots!" she snapped.

"I see. Excuse me. But that's not what I was suggesting," Miles continued, more bemused than upset.

Jeremy interjected, "Show a little respect. You're talking to General Matheson."

Nora twisted in Jeremy's grip, but she did look a bit surprised, maybe even impressed.

Miles had lowered his knife hand and was swinging it slowly back and forth. "No, I meant contract work. I'd pay you handsomely. There's not an artillerist in the militia who can do what you just did." Miles assumed his classic rogue slump that usually worked on women. He liked to smell slightly less rank when doing it, but hell, it'd have to do.

"So instead of killing me, you're offering me a job?" Nora asked incredulously. She didn't appear to be caving to his charms either.

"Seems that's so," Miles answered. "Make your choice, Clayton. But it'd be a damn shame to waste such beautiful bombs if you're capable of making more like that." He fought to keep his eyes from traveling down to her breasts. He may have glanced. God, he was in trouble.

Nora looked back at Jeremy. "Can I have my hand?"

Miles nodded, and Jeremy released it. She held it out-tanned with slender fingers. Miles grasped it, and his stomach actually lurched. Like he was a fucking teenager. Christ, how old was this woman? _She_ looked scarcely older than a teenager.

"Come to our training camp tomorrow at 0900. There'll be a bag of gold in it for you," Miles finished. She nodded. Jeremy released her, and the two officers sauntered away.

Jeremy peered sidelong at Miles.

Miles resisted the urge to give his friend a shove. "Fuck you, Jeremy," he said instead.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: So hello y'all. Like many of you, I need some Miles to carry me through the hiatus-thus I began this story. Because Revolution is so new, it may turn out that some of this story conflicts with what we learn about canon. Sorry! It's been quite some time since I've fanficed on this site, and therefore, it might take me a bit of time to get back up to speed with everything. I don't beta my work, but I am a professional writer, so I tend to catch most of my own errors. If you do see typos, I would appreciate a kindly-phrased heads up, as I like to fix them. Because writing is also my day job, just know I do this strictly for fun! Please, have fun too!_

_Note: The title of this story comes from T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland." Eventually, all will be revealed. Yeah, I went there._

_Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. But you knew that, yes?_

Shortly before 0900 the next morning, Miles rode up to where Jeremy was training new recruits. He dismounted his chestnut horse, Zeppelin, and handed the reigns to an orderly. The recruits looked terribly young; it made Miles a little sick. When had it come to this-snatching children before they could be corrupted by the rebels? Jeremy had his hands on his hips, barking orders. Bodies were awkwardly worming under barbed wire. At least one youngster's shirt was hopelessly caught, pinning him in the mud like a fish on a line. He looked like he couldn't be more than 15.

Miles addressed Jeremy confidentially. "He doesn't look old enough for this, Jeremy."

"He begged to enlist, sir," Jeremy responded. "You said rather than an age limit, you wanted dedication…"

"I know what I said," Miles responded impatiently. He was annoyed with himself, and he realized instantly that it wasn't because of this kid. No, the problem was the woman who was coming to meet him, and her perfect, brown sugar skin. He had thought about that skin all night. The recruits were lining up to freeze at attention, just as the very woman of his torment strode up, wearing her dusty cap from yesterday and a sleeveless shirt that revealed thin, muscled arms.

"Recruits, say hello to your general," Jeremy barked, furtively smiling at Miles, as he too caught sight of Nora. Jeremy had know Miles a long time. He didn't think he recalled Miles looking at a woman that way before.

"Morning, sir!' The recruits enthusiastically shouted.

Miles just nodded, irritation having unshakably set in. He folded his arms across his chest and felt the irresistible urge to do something cool to win Nora's favor. And then he hated himself for having such a juvenile impulse, especially in front of his own troops. While he had this minor scuffle with his subconscious, every eye remained on him.

"Good morning," he replied to the recruits several beats late in a low, gravely voice. He glanced over the line and noticed in the distance a number of soldiers being carried in on stretchers toward the medical tents. He had heard reports of a rebel attack on the city walls, but he didn't know how critical the wounded were. Something changed in him at the sight of them, and he stared stoically into the eyes of each of the young faces standing before him. He forgot about Nora for the time being.

"Do you know why we have this militia?" Miles said, magnetic energy coursing through his muscles. Each recruit stared at him like he was God.

Jeremy smiled. This was his favorite Miles. The orator. The inspired general. There was no doubt-Miles was a military genius.

Miles' face was set. "When the lights first went out, there was chaos-relentless violence and pain. Somebody had to bring order to disorder. That is what we, the militia, do here. We do not have the luxury of giving into hate or rage or fear. We are the force of calm in the republic. If you want to be a soldier, you will have to prove that you have discipline, self-control, honor. You must be good to earn the right to arbitrate, to kill only when necessary." Miles swallowed. Did he believe his own lies? He looked right at the young recruit, who now appeared to be trembling in fear. "We are humanity's best hope for survival." His pause was pregnant. "Carry on."

Jeremy said jovially, "Yes, sir! Two columns. Double quick to the training wall. Fall out!" He then lingered behind. "Like what you see, Miles?" he said under his breath, noticing that Miles had turned inadvertently to gaze at Nora.

"Better go with your men, Jeremy," Miles grumbled, scowling.

"I _did_ mean the quality of the new recruits," Jeremy laughed.

"About my bag of gold…General," Nora said smiling, entering the conversation.

Miles lifted an eyebrow. Damn, he was falling for her.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks to those reading and reviewing! This chapter and a few in a row will be from Nora's perspective. By the way, if you're a Miles-Monroe fan, there is much to come! Some in the next chapter, in fact. Be patient._

Nora began working for Miles on a regular basis. At first she stopped by only upon request, but after a few months, she found herself coming around more often. She needed the work, and if she was honest, she didn't mind the general. He was quiet but solid. There was something gritty and comforting about his presence all at once.

On this particular day, she hadn't been around the militia in four weeks, as she had been off on a bounty-hunting job with her sister, Mia, in Upstate New York. Fall was beginning to give way to winter, which ignited a kind of indescribable longing in Nora that had led her back to headquarters. Miles generally didn't mind if she showed up unannounced. In fact, he always seemed pleased to see her. So today she wandered about camp, listening to her boots crackling on the dry, dead earth, looking for the general. When she didn't find him, she flagged down an aide she recognized.

"The General's resting," Robert Tye explained.

"Can you see if he has a job for me?" Nora asked, a little confused by this response. It was the middle of the day and not like Miles to be anywhere but training his troops or perhaps planning with Monroe in the main house.

Robert led her to a tent, which she supposed contained Miles based on its grandiose size, and told her to wait outside. This too seemed a little odd given that she was pretty sure Miles lived in the mansion with the rest of command. After a moment, Robert reported back, "The General will see you." He held the flap aside and for the first time, she found herself in Miles' tent. Robert did not accompany her, which made her feel strange. Exposed.

The tent was spacious, and the pale November light that filtered through cast a cinnamon glow on Miles' sparse furniture and few belongings. There was a table in the center with some maps spread out, a large copper tub on the floor, a chimney in the center, which appeared to evacuate smoke through a central sky-hole. His boots were neatly lined up, and his uniform was folded on a chair. Then there was the general himself, lying on his back on a cot, blankets pulled up to his chin, a hot water bottle clasped to his chest. His cheeks were flushed and the skin under his eyes looked thin and blue. He was clearly unwell.

Nora must have appeared hesitant, because Miles released a hand from his hot water bottle and beckoned her over. "It's ok, Nora," he said hoarsely. "I've got pneumonia, but I'm on the mend."

"Pneumonia?" she asked alarmed. That was serious. The bottom of her stomach dropped out momentarily. "I thought that was normally a secondary infection," she said, approaching him and pulling up an empty chair. "Strong, healthy people don't usually get pneumonia."

He looked a little amused at her sudden medical expertise.

"Well, a bullet did graze my lung a few weeks ago. So yeah, technically, it is a secondary infection, and I am in a fragile state." He coughed briefly. "Thanks for noticing."

"You were shot?" she gasped, showing concern she wished she wouldn't. She actually had to stop herself from reaching out to touch him.

"I'll be fine." He smiled warmly.

"Who shot you?"

"A rebel."

Nora shook her head.

"If I didn't know you for the cold-hearted artillerist that you are, I would think you were…concerned," Miles offered.

"Shouldn't there be someone in here attending to you?" she asked, ignoring the implication.

"I sent everyone away. I was tired of them pestering me." Miles coughed a little again. "I have a very fine doctor-Dr. Arora. He talks a lot."

"Would you like me to leave?"

"Not particularly," Miles said quickly. He moved to sit up.

"No don't-" Nora started.

"I'm fine, really. You came for work?"

She nodded. Work had been totally forgotten. She realized that Miles was wearing just a faded black t-shirt. She had never seen him without his militia jacket on before. He had several tattoos and incredibly sexy arms with wiry veins and dark hair. She could no longer deny it. She wanted this man in a bad way. To hell with the fact that he had to be a good ten years older than she was. She knew she was staring too long at his arms and that he was noticing. To his credit, Miles kept on with their business.

"I have a job for you that's outside of what you usually do-on the edge of the Republic. The Georgia Federation is making trouble on our southern border. We need to plant some more effective mines. Set up a secure perimeter. The mission would take a couple of weeks to complete….and it'd be dangerous. There could be serious trouble. It'll be winter-cold, uncomfortable…"

"And…you'd be going?" she asked against her better judgment.

Miles smiled at her wearily, his stubble looking more than a few days old. "Yeah. I'll be in field comm-"

She leaned in and kissed him fully on the lips before he'd even finished the sentence. Miles pushed her chin gently away.

"Hey, Nora. Not that I don't want that-I do," he said quickly. "But I'm sick. Sickest I've ever been in my life, in fact. You'll get sick."

"You don't usually catch pneumonia from contact. You might get a cold or something."

He raised his eyebrows.

"My sister got pneumonia when we were kids," Nora explained.

"You have a sister?"

"Yeah, Mia. She's a bounty hunter. We grew up in Texas," Nora said, suddenly confessional.

Miles reached out and took her hand, sinking back down under the covers and grasping his hot water bottle once more. He closed his eyes and then said something that shocked her, since Miles was a man of few words and often unreadable emotions.

"Nora, I find you irresistible. I have since the moment I met you."

"So, executing me was out of the question, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it was," he laughed and coughed. After a pause he returned to the subject at hand. "Clearly, I have to wait it out here until I get better. So we won't leave for the Georgia border for another two, probably three weeks. But…Nora?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't stay away so long this time."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: So while I'm on vacation I might as well keep them coming! I won't always be able to update this quickly. Mind the T for implied sexiness, but it doesn't go beyond this...except in your imagination. Wink._

Nora didn't stay away long. Less than a week later, she ventured back to camp, this time approaching Miles' tent right away. Robert wasn't there, so she took a chance and entered quietly. Sebastian Monroe was standing in front of Miles, who was sitting up in bed with a number of papers spread in his lap. Miles was wearing a long-sleeve, faded blue shirt unbuttoned at the top to reveal the hint of chiseled pecs and a manly crop of chest hair. Nora had never met Monroe-only seen him from a distance. Something didn't feel right about his energy this evening.

Monroe was saying, "I just don't see why you won't come back to the house where you can sleep in a real bed and get well, Miles. This is ridiculous." His voice was marked by genuine concern.

"I am getting better, Bass, and we've been over this. I want to be near my troops. It raises morale and confidence in my leadership."

"You're mad at me, and you're acting like a child," Monroe scoffed.

"I'm not-" Miles made a little humph of frustration. "Look, I have my disagreements with the political decisions you've been making, yes. But what do I know about politics? This I know," he nodded all around him to indicate what surely meant 'military affairs' and noticed Nora standing in the doorway, or at least finally acknowledged her presence.

"Nora, c'mere. Sebastian Monroe meet Nora Clayton. She's the independent contractor who's been kicking ass with her bombs."

Monroe stuck out his hand and looked her rather obviously up and down, which sent a chill down Nora's spine. Miles appeared annoyed, also noticing Monroe's wandering eye.

Nora took his hand at last, as Monroe said, "Pleasure," and smiled icily.

Monroe glanced back at Miles, clearly suspecting Nora was more than just a contract bomber. Miles stared right back with his lively brown eyes, defying Monroe to ask. He didn't.

"Nora, if you don't mind, I just had a few more things to say to Miles. No, you don't need to leave," Monroe said quickly when she made to move toward the exit. "Miles, it's Rachel. You have to come back to the house and talk to her. She's gotten…unruly in your absence."

Miles stared back at Monroe, his expression deep and unfathomable. "She's a prisoner, Bass. Of course she's unruly. Why don't you just admit it's over and let her go home to her family?"

Monroe's eyes flashed in anger, becoming darker and distinctly threatening. "You know why, Miles. Don't absolve yourself of this. She's here as much because of you as because of me."

"Yeah, tell yourself that and sleep better," Miles spat back.

Monroe moved stiffly away, but his voice softened. "I hope you get better soon, Brother. Illness is not becoming on you." Monroe left and with him the chill of his presence.

Nora noticed that Miles had a fire going against the cold. Miles was still staring transfixed at the spot from which Monroe had departed.

Nora moved over to the general and sat on the edge of his bed. "What was that? Lovers spat?" she added with a small grin. She knew Miles and Sebastian were best friends; word on the street was they had been since they were little kids together.

Instantly, Nora could tell she'd said the wrong thing. Miles did not look at her and sat gathering the papers in his lap, which he then set on the floor carefully.

"Everything ok, Miles?" Nora tried instead.

"No, Nora. Everything's not ok. He's losing it. Can't you tell? All of this killing? It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to stop the random violence not make it worse. I don't know the first thing about governing, only soldering. And that's the problem. Monroe, he has the same training I do and yet…yet, he's a hell of a lot smarter than me, Nora. I don't know what he's plotting over there. I had to get out of that house. Get some fresh air, get some sense back in me."

The words had tumbled out, more than Nora had ever heard Miles utter at once.

"Can I help?" she said simply, not knowing what she could possibly do, but realizing the stakes were high. There were ramifications for the whole Republic, her included, in this brothers' dispute.

"Yeah, you can stay here tonight. With me," Miles said pulling her down closer to his face, as he lay back.

"Not contagious anymore?" Nora laughed, her nose inches from his.

"Doc says I'm clear."

Nora lowered her body on top of his and settled into his weight. She tucked her head under his chin, as he stroked her hair. He smelled vaguely of ash and spice and earthiness. She reached over to touch the chest hair she'd been eying since she'd arrived.

"Want you," Miles said, and she decided she was in love with this simple, gruff, but staggering specimen of manhood.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Me too."


	5. Chapter 5

Nora awoke to Miles' voice and his gentle nudging.

"Hey, wake up, Nora. Wake up."

"Hm?" she replied, unwilling to open her eyes. The room smelled of stale fire, and she could tell it was morning. Early enough for first light to be stabbing her eyelids with painful insistence.

"Nora, Doc's here. I asked him to clear me first thing in the morning, so I could get back to work. You might want to put your clothes on."

Nora started, now fully awake. "Should he know about us?" she asked a little panicked.

"Already does, babe. Too late for that. He'll keep it confidential. I trust him."

Miles' voice sounded stronger today, more confident. Nora got up and slipped quickly into her rumpled clothing and nodded to Miles when she had on the essentials. Then she sat in the corner, putting on her boots. Miles had put on only his pants, revealing his torso, which in the morning light told a different story of his past travails than in the fire glow. Everywhere he had scars, old slashes, pockmarks. Then, of course, he had a large bandage covering the left portion of his chest where presumably he'd been shot.

Dr. Arora had entered without acknowledging Nora, but that was fine with her. She felt out of place all of a sudden, despite the warmth of waking up next to Miles. She realized after a moment that Miles and the doctor were exchanging a few words in a language unrecognizable to her ear. They then switched to English.

Dr. Arora had removed the bandage revealing a wound that appeared to be healing well. Still Nora shuddered at the sight, thinking about someone harming Miles like that.

"This healing looks great, General. And since your pneumonia has vastly improved, I'll clear you for light work. But no training, and no combat! I mean it! You have a big campaign coming up. Do what's smart and preserve yourself for what matters." The doctor had a pleasant, vaguely Middle-Eastern sounding accent. His presence was comforting, and Nora could see why Miles liked him.

"Sure thing, Doc. Thanks for coming by," Miles responded.

After a moment the doctor had left, and Nora, now fully dressed, stood in front of Miles and grasped his hand. He gazed up at her affectionately.

"What language were you speaking to each other?" she asked curiously. She realized how little she knew about Miles.

"What? Oh-Dari. I learned a few phrases in Afghanistan. You know…before the blackout."

She pondered this for a moment. "Oh, I guess I never thought about that before," she said, glancing at the scars on Miles' torso again. "Never thought about you being deployed as a marine. How long were you there?"

Miles looked weary and gave a terse answer that meant he wasn't game for this topic. "I did a few tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, just like everybody else."

He got up and began to put on his shirt. "Look Nora, you'd better go. We depart for the Georgia border on Monday at 0700. Before you leave camp today, make sure you see Jones Anger-he's in charge of ordnance-to requisition whatever supplies you need. He'll have them waiting for you on Monday."

Nora nodded and began to move away, but Miles caught her by the hand and pulled her in for a parting kiss.

"I, uh, enjoyed last night. Hope it happens again soon," he said in his gravelly voice.

She couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, we'll see, General."

Walking out Nora wondered again about the man she had fallen in with. All of those scars, a lifetime of combat-a man like that had to be pretty fucked up. She was still unsettled about the dispute she'd overheard between him and Monroe. If Monroe had indeed lost it, what did that mean for the Republic? Further, she was suddenly scheduled to accompany Miles on 'a big campaign.' That didn't sound like just border patrol. She had the feeling Miles wasn't being entirely truthful about the mission. A large part of her didn't trust Miles. Didn't like helping the militia. Feared Monroe.


	6. Chapter 6

Miles, Jeremy, and Nora were sitting behind a line of trees on a hill crest, staring at a no-man's-land of barbed wire and ditches. It was mid-afternoon and definitely warmer down by the Georgia border, while snow had already begun to fall in Philly. They had only just arrived an hour ago at their destination and were surveying the area for enemy pickets.

Miles hated that he hadn't been entirely truthful with Nora about what they were doing here, but he couldn't divulge the plan until absolutely necessary. Security was essential on this mission. And this wasn't Monroe's idea-it was Miles' baby. He needed Nora's bombs-he needed her to agree to this. He never would have dreamed of going after this objective until he had met Nora and seen what she could do.

The mood at the moment was fairly light, masking an underlying tension. Jeremy was gazing through binoculars, and Miles slapped down his hands at once.

"Stop pointing 'em at the sun-you'll give away the position. What kind of idiot trained you anyway?" Miles quipped. He reached down and pulled out his flask to take a swig of whiskey. He offered it to Nora, who shook her head, before Jeremy snatched it away and indulged deeply.

"Um, you trained me, sir," Jeremy said, smacking his lips and shaking his head in mock regret.

Miles took the binoculars and said more seriously, "There's a bunch of sentries over there, there, and there. Think you can set up a line of bombs to blow their perimeter to high heaven, Clayton?" he said with a sideways glance at Nora. There-he'd set it in motion-what they were actually doing here.

"And what happens then, General?" Nora replied, her face unreadable to Miles.

"Then we go in-storm their fortifications and steal the massive arsenal they're protecting."

"Why the hell would they put an arsenal so close to the border?" Nora asked her eyebrows a straight line.

"Probably because they're planning an invasion in the winter, when we'd least expect it. Catch us with our pants down. I don't have complete intel on this. I'm guessing. Either way, I want those weapons."

Jeremy smacked his lips again, having taken another draw on the whiskey.

"Gimme that," Miles grumbled snatching back his flask.

"So, the arsenal-that's why we're here? To take it down?" Nora asked.

"Well, that's phase one, Nora. It's the phase I need you for. And then, you're gonna fall back, go home, and we're going to give these bastards a warning that'll make them think twice before planning an invasion. And…well if we can move our border south while doing it, let's just say I wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, I thought there were a couple thousand or so too many troops for a mere perimeter check," Nora responded drily. "An expansionist campaign. Huh."

Miles shrugged. "You gonna do this?" Miles asked, a deadness in his voice. He tried not to think too hard about what he was asking her to do.

"Yes," she said turning back to survey the terrain. "I'll blow the perimeter, and then I'm outta here."

"Good," Miles replied, staring straight ahead. He finally eyed her, noticing her shaking her head. "What?" he asked, irritated by her clear position of moral superiority.

"Told you, I didn't want to be in the militia. Didn't want to be part of your conquests," Nora said stiffly. "You lied to me."

"I did what I do, Nora. I'm general of the militia. I keep the Republic safe. I'm doing what needs to be done."

"Yeah and then some," she muttered.

Miles spat, "As if the United States wasn't expansionist for its whole fucking history. Nobody cared about that-that was just great. Killing the Indians, the Mexicans, taking fucking Panama, the Philippines, Guam. No one had a problem with that shit or at least not enough to stop it!" He paused and inhaled deeply. "I don't need to justify this to you. If you're gonna do it, do it and shut up about it."

She shrugged.

After a few moments of silence, Jeremy attempted to lighten the mood. "So…General. I heard that when you got wounded a few weeks back, some of the troops were really broken up about it, standing by fretting and wringing their hands."

Jeremy now turned to Nora, trying to break up the pall that had descended. "Do you know what Miles said? 'Someone bring me a patch or somethin'-stop up this hole, so I can go shoot the fucker who shot me!' A patch!" Jeremy hooted. "And one of the boys takes out his handkerchief and says, 'Here you go, General. Give 'em hell!"

Jeremy was giving himself a laughing fit. Miles pursed his lips in disdain at the retelling; however, he had to admit, it made him forget the other thing.

"Then Miles tries to get up, but he's been shot in the lung, so it's not happening. Instead he looks at the same boy and says, 'Gimme your whiskey, private.' The boy is taken aback but he does it, and Miles takes an ungodly big swallow and says, 'Well fuck it, boys. You're gonna have to carry me outta here. But someone kill that bastard, while I'm gone. Hahahaha!"

"Christ, Jeremy. Shut up. That's not even what happened," Miles grumbled, although it pretty much was. He smiled a little to himself, because the whole thing had been rather ridiculous and, of course, terrifying. He'd thought he was going to die right there in front of his troops.

Jeremy still wasn't finished. "When the medics were carrying him off, Miles gave the troops a big wink and a thumbs up. That's my boy!" Jeremy finished, clapping Miles on the back.

"You done?" Miles asked. Jeremy guffawed, holding the stitch in his side.

Miles continued, "Ok, let's get ready to blow these motherfuckers. Nora, we set up the explosives under cover of darkness. Got it?"

She nodded. He could no longer extract verbal communication from her. That seemed bad, but what the hell. The mission was all that mattered right now.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks to those reading and reviewing! One reader asked about Dari. It's a Persian dialect-one of the two official languages spoken in Afghanistan. Some soldiers stationed there pick up a bit of conversational local language, and in my imagining of Miles/Monroe before the blackout, they were marines who participated in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Enjoy the next installments._

A line of explosions bigger than anything Miles had seen since the blackout had cleared out the front line of defense for the Georgians thanks to Nora Clayton's handiwork. She was an artillery genius, no doubt about it. Miles had his sword drawn and was shouting at his troops to encourage them as they charged the arsenal. Nora had asked to stay with them until they took the objective, just in case she could be of any help spotting enemy mines. Miles hoped she was safely behind him, but as usual in battle, the chaos was utterly blinding. And he couldn't worry about his feelings for her, not at a time like this. Machine gun fire from the enemy nests above was raining down somewhere up ahead and cannon balls from what looked like nineteenth-century Napoleons were pounding into the earth. The juxtaposition had an eerie, anachronistic effect.

Miles kept the line moving forward, shouting at them desperately, praying their training would hold, and suddenly he was amongst enemy militia. He sliced one man about to fire and narrowly avoided taking another's bullet. He took out his side arm and shot two soldiers dead without hesitating. Miles was going deaf and the smoke was making his eyes water. He told himself to keep moving, and then he told his soldiers to keep moving. He hoped he was saying the words out loud but he couldn't tell what was in his head and what was real.

After hours of heavy fighting they drove the Georgians back into a (likely temporary) retreat, and all was quiet as both sides licked their wounds. Miles had no idea how far back the Georgians had gone, and sent out a reconnaissance squad. The arsenal, however, was now in the Monroe Republic's possession. That was a relief.

Miles was standing inside the makeshift warehouse giving orders to gather up the weapons for transport. Jeremy put his hand on Miles' shoulder.

"General, a moment?" Jeremy said gently.

Miles knew that Jeremy wouldn't interrupt him unless it was serious. He felt sick thinking it might be Nora's body he was walking toward.

Jeremy led him outside to where their mutual friend, Lt. Latrel Robinson, lay. Nora was there, but thankfully, she was unharmed and cradling Latrel's head. Miles crouched down close to his friend's twisted face. Her wounds were hideous and extensive. Latrel was holding in her guts with one hand and one leg was half torn off at the hip. She was shuddering and sobbing. Despite Nora's dark skin, she looked ghostly as she tried to calm the fallen soldier.

Latrel opened her eyes to look at Miles. "G-general, sir. Please, please shoot me. Shoot me. Shoot me," she was moaning over and over again.

Miles reached into Latrel's right front pocket and removed what looked like a bill fold. Then he tenderly touched his friend's cheek. Nora's hands appeared to be shaking as she tried to steady Latrel's head. Miles tried not to look at Nora; this was not about her.

"See you on the other side, friend," Miles said to Latrel softly. He pointed his sidearm at her heart and fired. Nora and Jeremy both made small sounds of surprise. Nora backed away, looking on the verge of being sick. Jeremy lurched toward Latrel's body. "Leave her to the stretcher bearers. Just a body now," Miles said almost coldly.

Miles put the bill fold in his pocket. He'd make sure Latrel's husband got what Miles knew contained pictures of their children before the blackout. Both kids had died in the original ordeal. But he couldn't allow himself to think about that right now or to feel at all for that matter. Not in the middle of a campaign. He had complete responsibility for so many lives right now. So many soldiers just like Latrel that he cared deeply about.

"Nora?" he said quickly. "You go on, get out of here. But first, I have a favor to ask," he said, his voice gravelly. She actually looked like she might be a little afraid of him; he couldn't exactly tell. He was having trouble focusing on her; her figure seemed to be swimming before him. He asked her to deliver a message-one that needed delivering-even though he hated to ask.

Then a number of officers were upon him making reports, asking questions, and he looked longingly after Nora as she ran off into the distant smoke, back toward friendly territory. He wondered, despite himself, if he'd ever see her again. A beat later he wondered if she hated him.


	8. Chapter 8

Nora had done her part. She got the campaign in motion and, as promised, then she departed. Part of her regretted leaving, knowing Miles was in immense danger, but she stayed true to her sense of integrity. She didn't believe in expanding the borders of the Monroe Republic. And seeing that kind of combat had been new to her. It, frankly, had horrified her. She had felt sick the entire journey back to headquarters.

At their parting, Miles had asked Nora to deliver a message to Sebastian Monroe, since only she and a few others knew the objectives of the campaign. She disliked the idea of talking to Monroe alone, but she'd do that too. She wondered to herself if she was doing this for the love of a man, and if so, if that was who she wanted to be. She wondered if she could indeed love someone who could kill so easily without hesitation-even his own friend. It had been a merciful thing he'd done for the dying soldier, she knew that. But…could she have done it?

Back in Philly, the snow was wet and dirty on the ground. A wintry mix was dropping ice pellets that fell almost painfully like miniature bullets on Nora's face and hands. She approached the mansion at headquarters with a lump in her throat. One of the guards led her inside and eventually into Monroe's opulent office. There was a carved mantel, rich-colored curtains, and oak furniture-nothing like the sparse belongings in Miles' tent.

"Clayton, was it?" Monroe asked, beckoning her in and offering her a chair and a whiskey. She declined both offers with a shake of her head.

"I have a message for you from Miles," she said not addressing his query about her name either.

"Go ahead," Monroe nodded. "Is he alright? He went and got himself shot last time he was on campaign." He took a sip of the whiskey that he had poured for himself.

Nora was briefly touched by Monroe's concern and found herself softening toward him ever so slightly.

"He was alive last time I saw him, which was now a week or so ago. We blew up the perimeter and took the arsenal. After that, I don't know what happened," Nora replied.

"Yes. Miles is aggressive and takes what he wants, that's for sure. I have no doubt he'll teach the Georgia Federation a lesson. Not sure we'll gain ground though. We'll see. That's his domain, anyway," Monroe appeared to say to himself more than Nora. He was staring out the window of his office, his blue eyes twinkling.

"You sleeping with him?" Monroe suddenly asked pointedly, still transfixed by the falling sleet.

Nora flushed and was taken aback by his bold and unwelcome question.

"Forgive me, but…be careful," he continued. "Miles can't get close to anyone without getting scared and pulling away. There's always collateral damage." Monroe turned to face her. He looked sad.

Why was he saying this to her? Nora wondered.

"Did you know his mother died of cancer when he was just a kid? He helped take care of her at the end, changing her diapers, spoon feeding her gruel, because his dad was a useless drunk. Took care of his little brother also. Did terribly in school-I mean, barely made it through. Had a lot of anger to deal with and got into some trouble. Yes, I was there for him through all of that, and me he trusts. Well _used_ to trust. But you? A woman? They never last. Best to cut your losses before you get in too deep. I'm giving you this advice as a courtesy."

Nora was speechless and confused. What was happening here? Was Monroe threatening her? Warning her? Trying to undermine Miles? Best not to stick around and find out.

"If you're finished, I'm going," Nora said, mustering a forceful voice.

"Of course, you're free to leave. Thanks for the message…Nora," Monroe said.

She shuddered that he remembered her first name and made a quick exit. She then wandered into town and made for the post office with one thing on her mind: getting Mia to come for a visit. She needed a sounding board, and she needed it before Miles got back. _If_ he got back.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Just to be clear, I'm kind of a massive Jeremy fan. And we're moving toward a Rachel arc for those of you who dig her bad little self!_

Miles was treading up the stairs to the main house of headquarters to see Monroe. His boots felt like they were constructed of cement and his breathing was labored. It was cold; snow was falling in thick, peaceful flakes. Miles liked the snow-it was like the sky was grieving on his behalf since he couldn't bring himself to think about any of it. He couldn't think about all of the good soldiers he'd lost in pursuit of an objective he hadn't achieved. After taking the arsenal, things had gone sour. He'd had a massive battle with the Georgia troops in which both sides had taken heavy casualties, but it was his army that had had to retreat. He hated to come home to Monroe with his tail between his legs, but at least he'd taken the weapons he'd been after. Honestly, he longed to see his best friend-the only living person who understood him. He knew Sebastian, even this new, harder Sebastian, would do exactly the right thing to make him feel better.

Nora briefly flitted into his mind, but he pushed the thought away. He was afraid to see her again, not knowing how to talk to her with all of this fresh blood on his hands. _His_ campaign. _His_ choice. His own troops sacrificed for a farce. He was in front of Monroe's door and knocked lightly in a pattern that would be unrecognizable only to his friend, his brother. More his brother than Ben ever was. Ben. Miles' chest hurt, especially because he knew he'd have to deal with Rachel now that the campaign was over.

"Come in, Miles!" Sebastian called.

"Bass-what…?" Miles said upon seeing his friend. Bass was teetering on a chair, getting something down from a high shelf. "Need me to get something for you?" Miles laughed as the taller of the two. An old joke between friends.

Sebastian smiled but continued to get the box himself. "Come over here, Miles, I want you to see something. How are you? You look spent. Tough campaign?"

Miles nodded and took the object Bass was handing to him to examine.

"It's a gift for you. Your birthday passed while you were gone, you know," Bass said, smiling warmly.

Miles nodded again. He'd barely thought about his birthday, but he certainly felt older. He wasn't looking at Bass, because he choked up when he realized what he was holding. It was his mother's pendant-a silver disk he knew so well from childhood that it took his breath away. He swallowed hard.

"Miles? I looked a long time for that." Bass turned to pull something else out of his desk drawer. "Here's a piece of leather you can put it on-in case you want to wear it."

Miles finally looked at him. "You…thank you, Bass. Thank you."

Bass grinned, understanding.

It took everything Miles had to push down the emotions swirling in his throat to change subjects back to the failed campaign. "Bass, you know about the arsenal?"

Bass nodded.

"Well things went to shit after that. Casualties: 254. 89 dead, another 100 or so missing, the rest wounded. It's a big loss, Bass. A big loss. I'm…" and here Miles fought to keep his lips from trembling.

Bass put his arm around Miles' shoulders, briefly squeezed, and then led him over to the whiskey. "You need a drink, brother. Listen," he said, pouring out the amber liquid, "it was worth the try. Georgia Federation has been threatening us for months-at least we gave them hell. They'll think again before initiating an attack on our border. What were their losses, you estimate?"

"Guessing a bit more than we took," Miles mumbled.

"Good. See? Good." Sebastian was taking a long draw on his glass and watched while Miles did the same. "You know what you need? A little relaxation this Christmas. Take some time off. Have a nice fuck with a stranger. We'll carve a turkey, you, me, and Jeremy. Just the boys! What do you say?"

"I've had enough time off, buddy. But the turkey sounds great," Miles agreed, ignoring the part about fucking strangers.

"Miles, I know you're tired, but will you see Rachel sometime today? Please?" Bass asked-the question Miles had been dreading.

"Yeah, bud. I'll do it," Miles agreed wearily.

Several minutes later Miles was back out in the cold, already missing the comfort of Sebastian's office. Maybe he should move back into the house, just for the winter months. The tent got so cold at night when the fire died down. He caught sight of Jeremy, who was talking to a sergeant Miles didn't recognize. Jeremy beckoned him over. His friend clearly hadn't washed either since the campaign. His uniform had dirt caked to it and blood stains. The snow fell softly on Jeremy's shoulders, making Miles think briefly about his favorite childhood joke: what's black and white and 'red' all over? A newspaper! Though these days, he avoided reading the papers, as there was never any good news.

"We need baths, J," Miles suggested.

"Yeah, we do," Jeremy agreed without hesitation.

They headed toward the officers' baths where they could get the quickest access to hot water poured out for them. Within five minutes they were gingerly lowering themselves into scalding water, each puffing on a cigar.

"Ahhh, that's the ticket," Jeremy sighed.

"Dismissed!" Miles called to the orderlies who had readied the baths, so that they were alone.

They lay back and closed their eyes, Miles imaging he could hear the snow outside, though of course, it was silent as the grave.

"Miles?" Jeremy asked after a long, restful pause.

"Yep?"

"Things ok with you and Bass? I mean…I dunno, things seem different somehow."

Miles opened his eyes and blew out a long stream of smoke. "I'm not sure, Jeremy. Sometimes I feel like I don't know him anymore. Even though I know him better than anyone, you know? I…" Miles thought for awhile before continuing. "I have to see Rachel today, and I just don't know what to do about that. Ben and I, we're brothers by blood, but we never got each other like me and Bass do. Ben was so smart, really into books and school and stuff, and I…I just wasn't. But I never wanted to hurt him. Not like this-taking away his wife and the mother of his children."

Jeremy was gazing patiently at Miles. He only knew parts of the story of why Rachel was here-the part in which Bass believed she had information regarding the blackout and the unspoken part in which Bass also appeared unwilling to let go of a boyhood crush on her. Why Miles had indulged Bass in brining Rachel here as prisoner was a mystery to Jeremy.

"Miles…why did you agree to it?" Jeremy finally asked.

"Bass was going to bring Ben here instead, because you know, Ben called to warn me about the blackout right before it happened. Bass knew that Ben knew something. I convinced Bass that whatever Ben knew, Rachel would know too. I mean, married people tell each other everything, right? I told Bass, 'Wouldn't you rather have Rachel here? Rachel, who you are clearly still in love with?'"

"But…why wouldn't you want your brother here instead? I mean, I get that you two aren't close, but…" Jeremy was confused.

"I mean…it's horrible to say, Jeremy, but I didn't want Ben here judging me. Judging us. He was disgusted with me when I joined the marines, horrified by all of this, the creation of the Republic, the militia. He thought I was just a murderer. Rachel can judge me all she wants, but Ben I couldn't handle. And if I didn't let Bass bring one of them here, he was going to harm the kids-Charlie and Danny. Those precious little kids, I just…I held them when they were babies. I took Charlie for rides in my car. She was a spirited kid-she took the gum right out of my mouth and chewed on it!" Miles shook his head, laughing a little at the memory. "I believe Bass'd have done it-killed them. He's obsessed with getting the power back on." Miles wasn't sure why he was referring to his family in the past tense. Maybe it was easier to think of them only as memories.

"And you? Don't you want the power back on?" Jeremy asked.

"Honestly, Jeremy? I don't care all that much about it. I know it sounds crazy, but…my life hasn't changed all that much. One day I was in Afghanistan blowing up bad guys in the desert, now I'm doing the same thing in Philly…what's the difference? The bad guys are just whoever we decide they are. But Bass-he doesn't want the power back on so that we can go back to before. He wants it on so that he can…be in control of the whole God-damned continent."

Jeremy lay back in the water, which was cooling off a bit too much. Miles saw Jeremy shiver.

Miles continued, "Where does it end, Jeremy? When we take Georgia, the Plains, Texas, California…? The world? Are we Napoleon, are we Hitler?"

"Miles, stop talking," Jeremy said quietly. "Just stop. You don't know what you're saying."

Miles put out his cigar and got out of the tub, wrapping his lower body in a towel. He was suffocating in here despite the cold.

Jeremy started speaking again. "Miles, when you and Bass found me on the side of the road, the shit kicked out of me, I was…I thought I was gonna die. And you saved me; _you_ saved me. You and Bass are doing the right thing restoring governance. Somebody had to do it, Miles. You had the balls to do it, do you hear me? Someone would have done it one way or another. Better you than them, Miles. Better you than them. I believe in you. I trust you. Don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to _us_."

Miles got dressed in the fresh uniform laid out for him and left in silence.


	10. Chapter 10

"How long are you going to punish me, Miles?" Rachel was asking. She was sitting on the window seat in her chamber in the main house-her own personal prison. She hadn't even turned to look at Miles when he walked in, and these were the first words out of her mouth.

"Why don't you just talk, Rachel? I don't want this for you," Miles said gruffly. He pulled over a chair to sit by her, and she finally looked at him. She had large bags under her eyes and her blond hair looked stringy, even mangy. She was clearly depressed, and though Miles was not particularly fond of Rachel, given her past actions, he felt for her. She was family after all.

"Can you make him stop the advances, Miles? I'm not in love with him anymore!" she choked out. "I'm sorry, God damnit! I'm sorry for what I did to Ben, but I'm not the only person on earth who's made that mistake, Miles. But how did my crimes get me here? Here away from my babies. Do you know how old they are now? They wouldn't even know me anymore!" Rachel was crying.

Miles resisted the urge to comfort her, because he knew where that led-to a violent shake off. And Miles was so raw that he didn't know if that kind of rejection would break the dam. He couldn't risk finding out. So he just stared at her.

"You're not being punished for your affair with Sebastian, Rachel," he said after a spell. "Honestly, I don't really care about that. That's between you and Bass and Ben. What we do care about is information regarding the blackout. You know this."

Rachel suddenly spit into Miles' face. "Fuck you, Miles. Fuck you, do you hear me?" She was screaming and got up and pushed Miles backward. He fell out of the chair and hit the floor with a painful thud on his tailbone. Before he could think, she was on him, plunging a letter opener into his right shoulder.

She wasn't fast enough to get it in very far, Miles twisted her wrist, snapping it with a pop. He wrestled her to the ground, as she sobbed. They were both breathing heavily, and several armed guards came rushing in at the sound of the commotion.

"Sir, are you ok?" They asked moving toward Rachel to seize her.

"Yes, back off. Back off!" Miles was waving, not wanting them to harm her. Blood was leaking out of his fresh wound. God, it was painful, like a massive paper cut. He was now sitting on top of Rachel, her arms pinned behind, her broken wrist already swelling. She had quieted down and was silently heaving.

"Rachel. I'm sorry about the wrist. But you…just don't stab me again. I'll kill you, Rachel. You know I will." Miles pulled her up. "Get Doc Arora in here, Pvt. Janney, Pvt. Thompson. Mrs. Matheson's going to need a cast."

"Sir, we won't leave you alone!" they objected.

"You will!" Miles ordered briskly.

Miles pushed Rachel back onto her window seat, where she sat cradling her ruined wrist. He took out a handkerchief to push against his own wound, but the blood was already clotting. It wasn't that deep.

"Rachel, you won't get out of here alive like that. Christ." He turned to look at the snow. "Fucking Christ, Rachel. When did a person as smart as you get so dumb?"

He paused for a very long moment, thinking carefully about whether or not to say this aloud, but finally he did.

"This won't last forever for you. I'll find a way to make it end." He wondered if he meant that, because if he did, it meant he was a traitor to his own cause.

Rachel stopped sniffing and looked into his eyes without saying a word. Miles remained in the room until the guards returned with the doctor, who exclaimed at the sight of Miles' wound first.

"I'm fine, Doc. It's just a scratch. Attend to Rachel, please."

Miles left abruptly.

By the time he reached his tent, Miles was shaking. He wasn't one for crying, but his eyes certainly felt hot at the moment. He just wanted to be alone. But when he opened the flaps, Nora was sitting there waiting for him. He felt an odd mixture of joy and disappointment. He turned his head for a second to compose himself. For some reason, seeing Nora made the urge to cry twice as intense. He swallowed once, twice. _Damnit, Matheson_ _get a grip_.

Nora just waited silently. She could probably tell he was upset.

He waited far too long to choke out, "Nora, I can't…" Then he made a superhuman effort to stabilize his voice. "Walk with me." He just couldn't image holding it together in the tent right now.

In a moment she was by his side and they were walking away from camp.

They were presently in the woods, not a soul around except for the snow-laced trees that looked as ancient as Miles felt. For twenty, maybe thirty minutes they hadn't said anything to each other, until at last Nora said:

"I'm sorry, Miles. I can see you have a lot on your mind, but I have to ask something."

"Go ahead," Miles said. He took her hand now as they walked.

"When I delivered your message to Monroe after I left the border…he said something to me. Something strange, and it's been eating at me."

Miles stopped and looked at her. He dropped her hand.

"I think he was trying to…break us up?" She quickly related the content of the conversation, while Miles stared stoically at her.

"Nora, listen to me. You are never to come to camp again. Never. You understand? No more working for me, no more seeing me! Period!" he was raising his voice to a frightening pitch.

Nora flinched at the words. "Miles…why? No, I will not stop seeing you."

Miles began pacing like a caged animal. His mind was racing. He didn't know what this all meant, but he had an overwhelming sense that Nora was in danger.

"I don't want to stop seeing you either. But…look, Monroe can't know about us. He has to believe it's over."

"Why? What do you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know, Nora. But I'm scared. I don't want anything to happen to you." He stopped pacing and pulled her in close, breathing in the smell of her raven hair, getting snow flakes in his chin stubble. "I'll come see you, but stay away from camp. You see militia coming, you just go the other way; got it?"

He felt her nod. He pushed her against the nearest tree and began desperately kissing her, giving into his desire instead of his grief. Nora indulged him, and though it was awkward, they had the reunion they had both been craving right there against the tree with most of their clothes on.

Still breathing heavily afterward, Nora said quietly to Miles, "Come home with me for a bit. There's someone I want you to meet."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: This chapter is a little calm before a major storm. And by the way, how good was that mid-season finale, right? _

Miles had never been to where Nora lived before, which appeared to be the upstairs of an old, colonial house shared with a Puerto Rican woman, whose heavily lined face looked comforting and wise. Nora and the woman briefly shared a conversation in Spanish, only a few words of which Miles recognized from his past life in high school Spanish.

Once upstairs Nora called out, "Mia! You home?"

A young woman with a much paler, rounder face than Nora, but still very pretty, emerged from a back room.

"Miles Matheson, meet my sister: Mia," Nora said by way of introduction.

They shook hands. As usual when Miles met a civilian for the first time, he felt a brief pang of embarrassment at his right hand, heavily calloused from gripping his sword, his knuckles frequently cut up from the brass knuckles. And no matter how many baths he took, his fingernails were always filled with grime, like a toddler caught making mud pies.

"You need a bandaid, Miles Matheson?" Mia asked.

For a moment Miles was confused until he glanced down. Indeed, his wound from Rachel was bleeding slightly again.

Nora chimed in, "Yeah, what happened, General? Fall on your sword?" Apparently she got sassier when her kid sister was around.

Miles didn't particularly want to explain that he was holding his sister-in-law hostage for information and that she had had enough and tried to kill him. So he said, "Something like that."

Nora helped Miles out of his jacket and loosened his shirt. Mia came back with some alcohol and lint to help wipe up the wound and then they affixed a bandage. As the women were tending to him, they were exchanging a few sly words in Spanish. Miles zoned out, allowing himself to feel comforted in the small, cozy kitchen with the little tattered curtains at the windows. He liked that they weren't talking to him-he was tired of people. Tired of everything. It was getting dark, and Nora went to light the candles. It dawned on Miles that he hadn't told anyone he was leaving camp, and yet, when Nora asked if he'd stay here tonight, he couldn't resist agreeing.

"You guys, hungry? I got some noodles and broth from that shop down the street," Mia offered.

Soon, Miles was slurping down fat noodles, cooked in ginger and green onion, feeling a lot better. He thought to himself: this is…what? Home? Civilian life? And an incredible longing for his past flooded him. He thought of his mother, making him soup as a child, and Ben in his high chair laughing and flinging beans at Miles. Miles had constructed a fort behind cereal boxes from behind which he had taunted his little brother. Thinking back Miles couldn't remember if his mom actually looked exhausted in that memory, or if that's the only way he remembered her face at this point. He fingered her pendant in his pocket and a sudden pang of longing for Sebastian mingled with yearning for his mother. Bass wasn't gone, he reminded himself, but undeniable feelings of estrangement with his best friend burned like reflux in his chest.

"Do you think…could you get this pendant onto this piece of leather? I'm clumsy about that kind of thing," he asked aloud to no one in particular.

"Hah!" Nora laughed. "I've seen you with a sword-you're definitely not clumsy with your hands."

"If things are going to get dirty up in here, I'll leave!" Mia objected good-naturedly. But she took the pendant and tied it for him with her small, nimble fingers, then helping Miles to fasten it around his neck.

At their curious looks, Miles offered only, "It was my mother's."

Nora gazed at him for a moment and said, "Monroe told me she died of cancer when you were young. That you took care of her for a long time. That true?"

Miles nodded, fingering the necklace absentmindedly.

"What about your dad?" Mia asked innocently. Nora didn't have time to warn her off, realizing that was probably not a fond memory.

Sure enough Miles' eyes went dark. "He…" Miles was too tired to lie or subvert. So instead he said simply, "He shot himself when I was on leave from the marines. Thoughtful that he waited to do it when I was home to clean up the mess." He didn't care how it sounded. The effect of the noodles had worn off, and he was so very tired again.

Miles didn't look at either of their faces, but he sensed they were looking at their bowls and not at him. "Ben was away at school, so I got to make that phone call to my little brother. Real nice. I don't miss phones," he added.

Mia was brave enough to pursue it further, despite Nora putting her hand on Mia's arm to shush her. "Why'd he do it? Did he leave a note?"

Miles looked at her. "Didn't have to-did it right in front of me." He shrugged. "Dad had been a soldier. Who knew what happened to him out there. Everyone's got their shit to deal with."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, but Miles didn't care. Talk was cheap.

Mia changed the subject to herself, something Miles would learn was common with Mia. "Our mother was killed after the blackout, when some random bastard was robbing our house. Nora and I, we hid under the bed. Our dad…we don't know what happened to him. Probably died too. Or at least never thought to check on us. They had been divorced for a few years and…" her lip quivered a little, so Nora patted her arm more gently. "Well, it doesn't matter does it. Everyone's got their shit to deal with. Like you said."

Miles nodded, looking at the dregs of his soup. He wasn't sure if he should lift up the bowl to get the last sip and pondered it for awhile before giving in and sucking it up. Like a pig at a trough he thought with mild self-loathing. Then he asked a question he was afraid of knowing the answer to:

"How old were you guys? At the time of the blackout."

At their responses, he muttered, "Jesus! I'm a dirty old man," and both of them laughed.

Later when Miles got into bed with Nora and they lay in the soft, flickering glow of the candlelight, Miles instantly began drifting off. He hadn't been in a real bed in months and it felt so good that he snuggled into the softness of Nora's body like a child. He barely noticed that she wasn't really returning his embrace.

Pulling him back from slumber Nora asked quietly, "Miles…I think you need to ask yourself why you want to expand the Monroe Republic. Are you and Monroe really doing things that well? Is this really the best governance you can offer? People aren't happy. You've got to see that."

Miles sighed heavily, but replied: "I do see that. I have the holes in me to prove it." He paused. "We're not safe though, Nora. The Republic. You think you're unhappy with Monroe and me in charge? In Georgia, they've reinstated slavery. _Slavery_. Can you believe that? If we're not prepared and they conquer us, things are going to get a whole lot worse. I went on that campaign, because…well the devil you know is better than the devil you don't know. If Bass and I are in control then at least I know what's going to happen."

"Are you hearing yourself? _You_ get to know what's going to happen. Why you? Do you even remember democracy, Miles?"

"Yes, Nora, I remember democracy a hell of a lot better than you do. You were just a kid when it all went to shit. When I was a marine, I did the dirty work for the United States, the secret underbelly of democracy, so that all of you could sleep soundly with your flat-screen TVs and your fancy clothes and your organic food. Meanwhile, Bass and I sat in Iraq and Afghanistan and rotted. We killed men, women, children in that ungodly piece of shit desert. I was a prisoner of war for four months while I was in Afghanistan, and I swear to Christ I saw the depths of the human soul, Nora. How black and sick it becomes when it gives into the idea of enemy. Enemy? A total abstraction, but the most powerful one on earth."

He shivered violently. "Bass saved me from all of that. He reassembled the exploded pieces of me and pretended I was a human when I'd become…something else. This time it's him who's gone a little off. I can help bring him back. I have to at least try. It's what he did for me more than once in my shitty little circus of a life. It's what we do for each other."

"What are you going to do, Miles?" Nora asked seriously.

Miles sighed. "I…I don't know." The problem was Miles wasn't at all convinced he had the ability to bring Bass back from the edge. In the back of his mind, he feared there was only one thing to do if he was going to stop Bass' destructive spiral into oblivion that threatened to take down the entire Republic with him. Miles couldn't possibly fathom doing this thing. He couldn't even think it.


	12. Chapter 12

It was Christmas and the main house was abuzz with jubilant voices. The dining room was bedecked with pine garlands and glowing candles. Miles was already mildly shit-faced, and it was only 8pm. He may or may not have been attempting to escape reality. He was sitting to the right of Sebastian, Jeremy at the left. Next to Miles was Tom Neville, an officer with whom Miles was intrigued-a man of character and patience-and next to Tom sat his wife, Julia, a regal blonde in a beautiful, tight red dress. Miles wished Nora could be next to him wearing something similar but knew that was out of the question. He took another sip of wine, which was beginning to taste like poison, probably a sign that he should slow down. Especially because the turkey hadn't even been served yet.

Bass put his hand on Miles' arm to get his attention. "So this is the first time I've gotten to sit down with you for days-I'm dying to know, what did Rachel say to you? Why did she stab you?"

Miles shook his head. "I don't know why she stabbed me. She just seemed…desperate to get away. She misses the kids. She says she wants you to stop coming on to her."

"Huh! What is she on about? It was just an intimidation tactic. I'm not interested in her anymore. Not in that way." Monroe's cheeks were turning red, as they often did when he was angry. "She's a slut, Miles."

Miles stared at Bass. "Well, she's a cheater-don't really think it's fair to call her a slut though, Bass. You guys always had a weird attraction to each other. Can't say I ever understood it. But…I think part of the reason she agreed to come here was that pull you have on her. She sure as hell doesn't care about me! I'd rather not go back in there. I've had enough holes in me of late."

"What if you told Ben…about her betrayal? Maybe he'd side with you-give up some information."

"You leave Ben alone, Bass. I mean it. You go after him, I go after you!" Miles growled threateningly. He saw Tom shift uncomfortably next to him and made an earnest effort to control his temper.

Bass put up his hands in surrender. "Ok, ok. Just a thought. Let's not argue. It's Christmas. A time for family."

Miles softened. He was too tired to fight. Miles looked at Jeremy, who was sloppily pouring himself more wine and grinned at him. Jeremy winked when he noticed Miles watching.

Monroe suddenly lifted his glass to initiate a toast. He stood and all of the officers made to stand from respect, but Monroe signaled them to remain seated. "To the Monroe Republic-may it continue to prosper!"

"To the Republic!" the voices called.

"And to General Matheson, whose victories this year have been invaluable to the stability of our nation! My great friend and brother," Sebastian nodded at him and clinked Miles' glass.

Everyone heartily toasted the general, and Miles felt Tom clap him on the back. Misery descended upon Miles, though he should have been happy. He wasn't sure he wanted recognition for his conquests anymore. The turkey arrived just in time, and they sat eating. Over time, Miles felt his drunkenness give way under the food.

After awhile, Bass said quietly to him, "You ok, Miles? You look a little like your puppy died."

"Mm hm," Miles made noises, while his mouth was stuffed full of mashed potatoes.

"I have a girl I'd like you to meet after dinner. Long black hair, olive skin, and gorgeous-just your type. I think you'll like her." Bass watched Miles' face. "I assume you and the Latin woman split up-haven't seen her around in weeks."

Miles nodded. He thought long and hard about how to respond to Bass' offer and decided it was best to deal with this woman Bass had picked out for him in private. "I'll look forward to meeting her," Miles said. Bass smiled. That was the right answer.

All of a sudden the doors behind Monroe flew open and a sergeant entered looking very apologetic but urgent.

"Sirs! Sgt. Adrian Miller reports!" He saluted, waiting for both Miles and Sebastian to return, which they did promptly.

"Go ahead, Sergeant," Miles said.

"Sorry to disturb your dinner, sirs, but we found a group of rebels outside attempting to plant a bomb outside of the main house. We have apprehended the offenders and are holding them for you alive."

Miles and Bass exchanged quick glances. How the fuck did they get so close? their eyes said to each other. They pushed back their chairs and made to follow Sgt. Miller.

"Tom! You come with us. Jeremy, I want every inch of this camp scoured." Miles quickly gave orders.

"Sir!" Jeremy barked in return. Tom swept after Miles and Monroe.

They descended into the basement of the prison, where they heard the sickening thud of human skull against the ground.

As they entered the cell, the guards saluted. Miles all but flung one of them aside, as he saw what they were doing. One prisoner was already dead.

"I'm placing you under arrest, corporal! This prisoner is dead! We can't question a dead man!" Miles was so angry he could have punched the corporal, who looked no older than 17. Miles wasn't drunk anymore, that was for sure.

Tom grabbed the kid by the shoulder and pushed him violently out the door, which satisfied Miles' ire for the moment.

Monroe barked, "Stand guard outside the door!" to the remainder of the guards.

Miles' eyes had grown wide when he saw the rest of the prisoners. There were two men and one woman: Mia Clayton. Miles hoped to God she wouldn't let on that she recognized him. Her life depended on it. So did Nora's for that matter.

"You rebels?" Monroe asked them calmly. The prisoners had been made to sit on the cold cement floor. "Answer!" he yelled, his voice like a bullet.

"No," Mia responded bravely.

"Yet you were planting…this bomb?" Monroe had walked over to pick up the remnants of the dismantled bomb the guards had found. Miles eyes widened at the sight of it. It was clearly a Nora Clayton creation. He'd know her bombs anywhere. He was immediately glad he had sent Jeremy away and taken Tom instead-Jeremy would have known Nora's bomb as soon as he'd seen it too. Was Nora trying to kill him? He almost laughed, it was so ludicrous.

Mia said, "I don't expect you'll believe me, but I was actually trying to recover this bomb. It's mine, and these sorry-ass rebels took it from me. I followed them here."

Tom shook his head. "A likely story."

Sebastian said, "Stand up, woman," his voice even and icy.

Mia did, her chin proudly lifted. Sebastian smashed her face with his elbow. It took everything Miles had not to draw his sword and defend her. Tom had brandished his sword and was pointing it at her neck.

"Don't lie to us." Monroe turned to the men, who looked bruised and beaten. "And you two?"

One spat on the floor. "We're not talking. You'll have to kill us!"

"Ok," Sebastian said promptly and ran him through with his blade. The other man turned pale and closed his eyes, apparently saying a prayer as his lips were moving.

"Miles? Hold that girl up," Monroe suggested, almost smiling.

Miles came around behind Mia and hoisted her up underneath her arms, an iota gentler than he would have with another prisoner.

Monroe said to Mia, "This your friend?" his head inclining to indicate the remaining man.

She shook her head, sinking her weight back down into Miles who had to exert considerable effort to hold up her ragdoll body. Miles nodded at Monroe in a silent order. He knew that Monroe would agree: Mia had talked first, so she was the one worth keeping alive. If the others were dead, Miles had a better chance of sparing Mia long enough to save her. In other circumstances, he would have stayed Sebastian's killing spree to keep the prisoners alive for questioning. But even silently, Miles was capable of manipulating his best friend.

Monroe took his sword and sliced the man open from chest to entrails. He screamed and slumped against the wall, still alive, but trying to hold his own body together. Mia shrieked, but Miles clamped his hand over her mouth. That wouldn't help.

"If you talk now, I'll kill you faster!" Sebastian said to the man.

"No!" the trembling man cried out.

Monroe looked at Tom and nodded. Tom walked over holding out his sword. "His ear, Tom. Feed it to him!" Sebastian suggested, a hint of a smile.

Miles felt sick. He himself had been brutally tortured before the lights went out back in Afghanistan. The things he had endured would never leave his memory.

Tom did it without hesitating, and Mia threw up on Miles' hand. The vomit was warm and rancid smelling. He shook it off and kept holding her tightly, quickly formulating a plan. He needed to try to play the superiority card over Bass-get him out of here. Find some way to get to Nora.

Sebastian had turned back to Mia and was about to speak, when Miles beat him to it. All the while, the suffering man was dying.

"I know how to get her to talk," Miles said, hoping to God Monroe believed him.

Bass widened his eyes. "Oh?"

Miles was thinking quickly and the plan that was formulating was not one he'd be proud of later. "I've seen this girl in town-I think I know where she lives."

Mia's eyes bulged, and she tried to whip back to look at Miles. He kept her pointing straight ahead. "I know someone close to her. Someone who'll get her talking. Leave this to me, Bass. I'll get information out of her." Mia was shaking in his hands from rage or perhaps betrayal.

Sebastian smiled pleasantly. "Yes, you always find a way of getting people to talk. That's my Miles. Alright, do it. Would you like an armed guard with you?"

"No. I'd like to be alone with her…" Miles let the words hang in the air menacingly, hoping Monroe would take them at their worst possible connotation. He let his hand travel suggestively toward her breast.

"Ah, so maybe you won't need a woman to visit you tonight in your tent after all?" Sebastian said with a wink at Mia, who tried to bite Miles' hand, still soiled from her own vomit.

Miles had had enough. He punched Mia quickly to knock her out. She wasn't going to make this rescue any easier, and he didn't want to listen to what she'd say when everyone left.

"C'mon Tom, let's leave the master to his symphony," Monroe said, departing.


	13. Chapter 13

Miles rode Zeppelin at a full gallop into town and stopped at the colonial house where Nora lived. He banged on the front door. Nora opened instead of the old lady. She was wearing just a t-shirt and black underwear and looked sleepy.

"We have to talk!" Miles said brusquely, pushing past her upstairs to enter her floor of the house.

Once they were in Nora's room, Miles said, "Get dressed while I talk."

Nora did as she was told and pulled off her shirt to put on her bra. Miles tried not to stare.

"Mia's gotten herself into a shitload of trouble. She's going to die unless you do exactly what I say."

"What?" Nora cried desperately. She stopped dressing to stare at him dazed.

"Keep dressing, God damnit!" He was now throwing clothes at her in an effort to mobilize her. "So you don't know about this? You don't know about that bomb?"

"Bomb? What are you talking about?" Nora's eyes widened.

"Your bomb, Nora! It had to be. It had your signature on it-I'd know one of yours anywhere!" Miles yelled angrily.

"I…oh. Oh my God. Mia took it. She must have!" Nora was shakily dressing again.

Miles nodded violently. "Ok, ok, well she was trying to blow us up-the officers! At dinner tonight. At fucking Christmas dinner. Now she's a hostage and getting her out is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done."

Nora was shaking but now moving very quickly, gathering her weapons and tying up her hair.

"I'm going to tell you what we're going to do, and you are going to do everything I say no matter how little you like it. Do you understand?" Miles said, his voice hoarse.

Nora nodded.

"Are you willing to get your sister back at all costs?"

Nora paused for a moment. She nodded.

"Then go get that old woman who lives downstairs."

Nora's eyes widened. "No…Miles. Please!"

Miles looked hard at her. "This is your mess, Nora. Your family. You make your choice. I'm gonna go get us another couple of horses while you figure out what you're willing to sacrifice."

When Miles returned on horseback with the horses he had "requisitioned" from a shop owner down the street, Nora was standing outside the front door with the shaking old woman. Miles swept the old woman onto Zeppelin's back behind him, saying gruffly, "You're coming with me." He tried not to think of her as a human.

Nora looked wildly up at Miles.

"Nora, do exactly as I say. Wait in the woods behind camp down by the creek with these two horses. I'll send Mia that way to you. Then get her out of town. She's not to visit you again in Philly, ok? I'll do what I can to clear her name, but she is never to be seen with you. In a few days, I'm making a trip to Pottsville. We'll meet there, and I'll give you the news."

She looked at him with a hollow, frightened expression.

"Understood?" Miles asked desperately.

"Yes," she finally said deadly.

Miles road back with the old woman behind him sobbing.

Monroe was standing on the steps of the house waiting. Miles rode up.

"Who's that?" Monroe asked curiously.

"Girl's mother," Miles lied. "Bass, it's gonna be a long night. I'll call for you if I need you."

Bass nodded and went inside.

Miles led the old woman down to where the guards were outside of Mia's cell. He dismissed them, saying he could handle this on his own. He wanted complete freedom to do what needed to be done, he explained. The men nodded and left. Miles tried not to be horrified by how compliant everyone was with whatever they imagined he was going to do. Things had gone way too far. Being an intimidating commanding officer was one thing but gaining a reputation as a matricidal rapist?

He led the old woman in to Mia's cell, where Mia had woken up and was holding her head in pain.

"Listen, Mia. I need you to tell me the truth about everything that led up to you getting captured. Quickly!" Miles insisted.

Mia's story tumbled out in a jumble of words. Miles nodded silently; he had let the old woman sink to the ground, crying.

When Mia had finished, Miles spoke again: "Ok, I'm going to get you out of here, but it's going to be ugly. It starts with this. I'm sorry." But he wasn't saying sorry to Mia, he was saying it to the woman. He pointed his gun at her and shot her dead.

Mia screamed and looked at him in horror.

"When I say so, you get out of here and run like hell out the back of camp down to the creek where your sister's waiting," he barked, unzipping his pants, which made her raise her eyebrows in confusion. "Go quietly, and don't let anyone see you! This is your one chance. Now!"

Mia ran out past Miles up the stairs. As she was doing so, she heard a gunshot from below, which confused her because only Miles was down there. But she didn't hesitate. She ran from shadow to shadow until she was out of camp, shooting through the woods and heading toward the water.

When Mia reached the creek, she made out the form of her sister and two horses. Without speaking, she mounted the horse, and they began galloping off into the trees.

"Where are we going?" Mia shouted.

"To Pottsville," Nora instructed.

They rode most of the night, not knowing if they were being followed. Eventually the horses were tired, and they decided to rest deep in a birch forest. They risked building a small fire, as it was freezing. There wasn't any fresh snow, but the ground was hard and brittle.

"Mia, what the hell happened?"

Mia shook her head in disbelief. "Oh God, Nora. It was awful. I took a job with these guys I didn't know. I should have found out more about them, but I needed the money. They needed a bomb for a job, and well, I took the one you'd been making. I didn't know what they wanted it for -I didn't ask questions. I just promised to detonate it. But then when I realized we were setting it up at the militia officer headquarters, I tried to stop it. I did! I caused a commotion and the guards found us and disarmed the bomb. They took us prisoner. Miles and Monroe came down and they killed everyone…everyone but me." Mia was shaking.

She continued, "Then Miles came back with your landlady, and…and he shot her, Nora. He killed her!"

Nora nodded feeling numb. She'd known that was exactly what she was agreeing to. Paola's life for Mia's. Paola was old, Mia was young. A friend for a sister. Did that justify it? Miles had done it for her. He'd done it for Nora.

"Nora, I don't understand. Miles…he, he unzipped his fly when I was leaving. Was he going to…? I dunno, Monroe said to him that he wouldn't have to send a woman to his tent that night-that Miles was going to have me instead," she spat disgusted.

Nora flinched.

Mia continued: "And then I heard a gunshot! But Miles was the only one down there. You don't think…he couldn't have…" Mia was raving now.

Nora just stared at her. "Whatever Miles did, he did for me. You couldn't just stay out of trouble, could you, Mia?" Nora stood up and walked to stare out at the bitter darkness. All of this suffering tonight. She had killed Paola. She hadn't pulled the trigger, but she had done it nevertheless. She had wanted it to happen if it'd save Mia. And Miles-is that why he didn't want Nora coming to camp anymore? So he could fuck other women that Monroe sent to his tent? If so, why would he have risked everything to save Mia? Was Miles even still alive? Her head was spinning.


	14. Chapter 14

As soon as Mia had rushed by Miles he swallowed hard and shot himself in the calf. He aimed to graze, but holy hell did it hurt anyway. He lay there for awhile, and finally called out for help. A guard came, then a medic, and eventually Monroe, who ran to him and squatted down, putting his hand on Miles' shoulder in concern. His eyes flicked down to Miles' unzipped fly.

"Miles what…uh oh. Did you get distracted?" Bass smiled a little. It was clear Miles' wound wasn't too serious.

The medic was wrapping Miles' leg, as the general winced.

"Ah hell, Bass. This isn't as bad as it looks."

Sebastian said, "We'd better send a unit out after her."

Miles shook his head. "I got her to talk before I killed her mother. She's not a threat to the militia." He winced again. "She's not a rebel, she's a bounty hunter. Made the bomb for a job but didn't realize it was meant for command. She reneged and had a scuffle with the other ones, and that's when our boys discovered and arrested them."

"And you believe her story?"

"Yeah, she gave it to me under duress. I was threatening her mother's life."

"I see you took care of the mother," Bass muttered looking at the old woman's body now. "So…how did the girl get away exactly?"

Miles glanced down at his open fly and zipped it without a word.

"Uh-huh," Bass said lightly, rolling his eyes. "Alright. I don't think we'll need to worry about her again. But that wasn't a bad bomb. If she's a bounty hunter makes bombs like that, maybe we could use her some day."

Miles said, "No thanks. She shot me! Asshole," he added muttering. Monroe was helping him up and supported Miles' weight as he limped up the stairs.

Miles waited for several days until he was scheduled to lead a patrol to Pottsville, where there had been intelligence about a rebel camp. Riding hurt his sore calf, but he had to get to the Claytons and make sure they were safe. He rode around the outskirts of Pottsville for nearly two hours, before he heard a whisper.

"Miles!" It was the familiar sound of Nora's voice.

Miles dismounted and led Zeppelin over to the sound. Nora resisted the urge to touch him. She noticed he was not putting weight on his leg. She found that despite her complicity in Paola's death, seeing _this_ Miles, the one who could waste an innocent woman to help his girlfriend, filled her with profound discomfort.

"Your leg?" she asked, pushing down the guilt.

Miles said, "Not a bad wound. Someone who cared about me made sure to miss everything important." He flashed a brief half smile. He was distressed that she hadn't embraced him. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Self loathing for his own recent actions was strangling him, and he needed a sign that Nora didn't utterly hate him or blame him. But didn't he deserve a large portion of the blame? For all of it?

Nora glanced back at Mia who had emerged from the woods.

"Are we ok?" Mia asked, concern marking her features.

"You should stay away from Philly for awhile, Mia, but yeah. Monroe bought your story about falling in with the wrong job. Best if he doesn't know you're sisters though." Miles paused for a moment and looked back at Nora. Perhaps she was so disgusted by his actions, she would never forgive him. "Sorry about…"

"Paola," Nora said.

"I'm sorry-I couldn't think of anything else to do. It had to be credible. Monroe, he knows me well. Better than anyone. He knows how I'd get someone one to talk."

"And that's how you get people to talk? Kill people they care about?" Mia asked severely.

"It's one way," Miles' lips barely moved.

"And what about raping them?" Mia continued.

Miles wasn't going to stand here and defend himself when he had just risked everything to save this family. Ire rose in his throat, and just when he was about to say something vicious, Nora interjected.

"I know you did this for me, Miles." She approached him a little more closely, staring into his face. He was looking down at his feet, gazing up occasionally at her. "And I'm grateful. I owe you. For my sister's life. I owe you," Nora said.

Miles raised an eyebrow at last. "Maybe I'll cash in on that some day then." He shifted uncomfortably. "I need to get back to town before I'm missed. I…Nora?" he wanted to touch her but she looked so forbidding, so stiff.

Did she realize why he had done this for her? Did _he_ know why he had done it for her? He did, though he was terribly afraid of the answer. He was in love with her. He would have done anything for her. He risked it all, and he'd do it again without even thinking about it. That was what scared him. It had almost been like he'd been playing a role written for him without considering the consequences on the rest of his life. He'd thrown everyone under the bus for Nora-his own militia, Monroe, some poor old innocent lady.

"Yeah, you should go," Nora said. "Maybe while you're in town you can find some other girl to fuck. Like you do when I'm not around camp."

Miles started. This was unforeseen. What the hell was she talking about? "Excuse me?" he said, confusion and anger in his voice.

"Mia told me about Monroe sending women to your tent at night. I get it. I'm just one of the general's conquests," Nora continued with eerie calm.

Miles couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I just risked everything for you and your sister, Nora. Everything. If you don't believe that means I…I care about you, then I don't know what I could possibly do to convince you." Miles turned his back on the sisters and limped toward his horse. He mounted and without looking at Nora's face, he dug in his heels to get Zeppelin moving.

He felt more alone than he remembered ever feeling before. So he and Nora, after all this: they were finished.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Thanks trusty followers! This story is winding down soon. Just a few more chapters._

* * *

Back in Philly, Miles made a promise to himself. He'd lay the groundwork for getting out Rachel while he figured out the rest.

Rachel. She'd been so desperate last time he saw her. When Bass had asked Miles to bring in Rachel to the militia that had been Miles' moment of epiphany. Bass had gone too far. And so extracting Rachel from this grand-scale shitfest Miles had created-that was the first piece of the puzzle.

Miles had first met Rachel in high school. But it hadn't been Ben she'd dated first; it had been Bass. Miles hated to admit he knew this, but Rachel had lost her virginity to Bass. He wondered if Ben even knew that. Rachel had made Miles uncomfortable-she'd treated him like he was dumb, a loser. And maybe he had been. Maybe he was. He had spent a lot of time skipping school and smoking in the parking lot that year, his brains addled by Ritalin. He supposedly had "ADHD," but he probably just hated school-felt oppressed by it, couldn't concentrate because of continuing strife at home. He knew he wasn't going to college anyway. He knew that him and Bass were going to enlist in the marines-it had always been their dream together. He had been counting down the minutes until graduation.

Miles had seen Bass' hurt when Rachel dumped him and moved on to Ben, but what could he do about it? People grow up, and Ben and Rachel appeared to be a better match-both nerds, high achievers. But the affair after Rachel and Ben had gotten married-that had been an unwelcome surprise. Miles had assumed Rachel's feelings for Bass had ended with adolescence, but a couple of years after she and Ben had tied the knot, when Miles and Bass were home for a visit, things got complicated.

It had happened after Miles, Bass, and Rachel came home from a long night at a Chicago bar. Ben was out of town for the weekend giving a presentation in Madison. Miles passed out on the couch in his brother's apartment dead drunk. Apparently, Rachel and Bass stayed up and got into trouble. At first morning light, Bass urgently roused Miles and begged him to leave. After some arguing, they got into Miles' car, heading anywhere, as long as it was somewhere warm, somewhere south. That's what Bass kept saying. Then he confessed to Miles: he and Rachel had had sex. He didn't know how it had happened. She'd said Ben and her were having trouble-but Miles stopped Bass there. He hadn't wanted to hear anymore.

Miles had been royally pissed at Bass. It was the worst fight they'd ever had. But they'd reconciled as usual. They always forgave the other when one screwed up.

Months later Miles found out Ben and Rachel were expecting a child and all seemed repaired with the Mathesons. Rachel and Ben never appeared to argue again, their marriage blissful. But when Charlotte was born, and Miles showed Bass the photograph of the beautiful, chubby, blonde baby, he saw a deep shadow of sadness fall in his friend's eyes. Almost like Bass wished Charlie was his.

Miles pondered these memories as he entered the main house, and he was reminded that life had always been painfully complex even before the blackout.

"Sir!" Tom Neville nodded as Miles entered the front hall.

"Seen Monroe, Tom?" Miles asked, observing that Tom looked haggard, almost unkempt. Very strange for Tom Neville.

"In here, Miles!" called Bass from the drawing room. He was having a drink; his eyes looked puffy and red, like he hadn't slept in days.

Miles came over and sat by him, adjusting his swords, which tinkled like wind chimes.

"You ok, Bass?" Miles asked.

Bass eyed him. "You haven't been around much lately."

Miles wasn't sure if it was an accusation or if Bass was just lonely. Miles kept looking at him.

"What have you been doing while I've been gone?" Miles pressed, suddenly feeling annoyed. Whenever he left, things ground to a halt at command.

"You know, we had a few parties. Booze, women."

"Parties? Bass," Miles ran his hand through his wiry, dark hair. "We've got the rebels down our throats in northern PA. And we've got Georgia up our asses from the South. You've got to focus."

Bass simply sat there looking exhausted. "What are you up to now?" Bass asked. "Want a drink?" He offered his own glass. Miles shook his head immediately.

"I was going to see Rachel," Miles responded, feeling suddenly hollow. "She's our other problem, you remember."

"I thought you were done with visiting Rachel." Monroe stared at Miles, but he didn't bite. "I'll come along with you then." Bass rose to accompany his friend.

The proposal was most unwelcome. Miles was hoping to follow up with Rachel on how to arrange an escape. But he couldn't think of a reason to keep Bass away.

As they were walking toward Rachel's room, Bass said, "Why do you think she chose Ben over me? I mean, I'm better looking, right? Rachel and I, we looked good together. Charlotte, she could have been our daughter with those golden curls." His voice was far off.

Miles grew incensed at the insinuation, but thought it best to brush it off and avoid a fight. "You know Rachel said something to me the other day; she said, 'I don't love him anymore.'"

Bass pondered that in silence, before Miles spoke again.

"Maybe she's always had a secret penchant for dangerous guys. She picked Ben because he was the safe choice, stable. But you…" Miles trailed off, his mind elsewhere.

"I was better in bed?" Bass offered innocently.

"Well, some people never get over their first lay, Bass." Miles came back to the present. "We've learned this the hard way, since you're clearly still wrecked by Leslie Pfeifer," he continued casually, while Bass shoved him playfully but soundly into the wall. "She was so ugly, Bass. Why did you fuck her? I've never understood!" Miles eventually gave into his own laughter, gripping the molding of the doorway for support. "She had horse teeth and hair down to her ass! She must have had to move it out of the way to take a crap. What did you see in her?" Miles wheezed.

"Shut up. You lost it to Joan Kim," Bass muttered.

"So? She was kinda hot in an Asian Velma sort of way," Miles insisted in mock seriousness.

"That's true. But," and here Bass started to really guffaw, holding onto Miles for support. "Remember, you waited for her to go use the bathroom, and then you used her pink, fluffy phone to call me and tell me that the whole thing was so awful! You weren't even sure if you did it right!"

Miles put his arm around his old friend's shoulder. "Oh, I can tell you now without hesitation since I've done it a few times since: I definitely did not do Joan Kim right!" Miles shook his head sadly.

"Haha! I heard she only dated girls after you, Miles," Bass insisted.

"Shut up, she did not," Miles objected.

Now that they were in front of Rachel's door, the easy familiarity of their lifelong brotherhood dissipated, reminding Miles that he was fooling himself. This wasn't the innocent young Bass who had boned Leslie Pfeifer. They weren't kids anymore. Miles had responsibility for so many lives-not just his beloved troops, the militia, but this whole damned Republic. He thought that he was shouldering the burden with Bass, but he wasn't. Bass was weak. Bass wanted the parties and the women and the glory, but he didn't want to figure out when Georgia was going to attack or how to locate rebel nests. Bass had allowed all of the loss he'd suffered-the vicious car crash that took his family, the decades of wasted love over a married woman, the years of soul-bleeding soldiering-to empty him completely. He was almost passive, Miles thought with sudden disgust.

Monroe embodied the nation in name only; Miles was answerable for everything else. It followed logically that Miles would have to take responsibility for destroying it. And then it hit him with perfect clarity. To relinquish control meant he had to destroy Monroe. Because they were two sides of the same coin. Heads and tails. But what would happen next? _Should_ the militia end? If the Republic fell, it would fall to the slave federation of Georgia or the vicious vigilantes of the Plains or the drug lords of California. Miles shook his head to stay this line of thought. He was tired of deciding on behalf of everyone else. He was done with leading.

Monroe was watching Miles carefully, as if Miles' head had opened up, spilling his thoughts plainly into view. So Miles briskly introduced a new subject.

"Tom looked upset just now. Something happen between you two?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh nothing. It was nothing."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You don't lie well to me, Sebastian."

"I got a little drunk last night, and well, Tom thought I was coming onto Julia."

"Were you?"

Monroe waved him off. "Naw. Tom's just being himself-uptight, suspicious-"

Miles shook his head and opened the door to Rachel's room. Instantly, the blood drained from his face.

"Rachel!" he cried and drew her apparently lifeless body in his hands. She was very pale except for the almost incandescent red draining from her wrists. A tiny razor blade lay at her side. Miles put his cheek to her mouth and finally sensed very shallow breathing.

"Bass what the hell are you standing there for! Get help now!" Miles insisted.

Monroe was frozen in time, his mouth a hollow O. At his friend's words he took off running.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Almost there, lovelies. The citation for the poem mentioned is T. S. Eliot, "The Wasteland," 1922, 1-7. You should read the whole epic poem if you haven't. It's one of the best things ever written, in my opinion._

* * *

Nora and Mia had been traveling back down toward Philadelphia together, and 10 miles outside of town they prepared to part.

"What are you going to do?" Mia asked.

"I'm going to Miles," Nora said simply.

Mia shook her head. "I thought you were pissed about the women."

"We don't even know that he sees other women. You could have misinterpreted. And…well, he's general of the militia. He was a marine. He's eleven years older than I am! I expect he's been with lots of women." Nora crossed her arms pensively.

Mia thought for a moment and said, "Do you think it's possible that you're attracted to such an older man because of abandonment issues over Dad? I'm just saying!" she finished when Nora audibly scoffed.

"Mia," Nora warned.

"No, think about it. He is kind of like Dad was. A man with a lot of bravado. Cocky but also a little self-indulgently tragic."

"That's enough. Stop comparing Miles and Dad, or you'll ruin sex for me." Nora frowned then smiled.

"I just don't get why you're going back," Mia protested.

"Because I love him."

"That sounds so stupid, Nora. A stupid emotion that people put far too much stock in." Mia paused. "I don't think you've seen him like I've seen him. In his element. Torturing…"

"Just stop, Mia. You don't know what you saw."

Nora held her sister's eyes.

Nora continued, "Besides. Love's not an emotion. It's an action. Because you see, unlike our son-of-a-bitch father, I'm going to walk right back into camp and show Miles that love is not giving up when everything's gone to shit. Love is showing up. At the very least."

"Have it your way, sis!" Mia shook her head. The two embraced for a long moment.

* * *

Miles was standing in Rachel's room staring at her things-notebooks, papers, pens. The doctor had just informed him that Rachel had a fair shot at making it. But if she died, Miles thought sharply, her blood was on his hands. As a cruel reminder, there was still blood on the floor that no one had thought to clean up-dark now, blackish. He rifled through Rachel's papers and saw that she had been writing down the verses of what appeared to be a poem.

She had written in an attractive scrawl: "The Wasteland. By T.S. Eliot. I. The Burial of the Dead. April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering earth in forgetful snow, feeding a little life with dried tubers."

Something cheery she had memorized in college, no doubt. Miles had never cared for poetry-it seemed elitist and distant, but this, well it sent a rush of melancholy straight into his arteries. In a burst of helpless anger, Miles swept the papers off the table onto the floor. He sat in her chair and gripped his hair, pulling it at its roots.

He repeated the words, "breeding lilacs out of the dead land," and finally he stood. Now was the time.

In his own grief, Monroe had announced that he was leaving to experiment with some new interrogation techniques at what Miles referred to as "Bass' playground." Bass would be back tomorrow night. This gave Miles time to prepare his escape plan and say goodbye to his troops. He loved those men and women. Perhaps more than anything he'd ever loved. But his and Monroe's time was up.

"Mixing memory with desire…" _Stupid poem_, Miles thought, as more of its words haunted him. Nora. Electricity flowed to his lower body, and he stood to shake it off. He couldn't fix that, not now. Maybe not ever.

Miles headed for his tent to plan orders. He needed to send away his biggest threats: Tom, Jeremy, a few other officers. He'd need to concoct urgent false intelligence. It had to be credible.

He nodded at Robert Tye, who was lingering around his tent and opened the flaps. Unbelievably, just like old times, there was Nora. At first he found it so difficult to trust his eyes that he thought the grief and strange poetry Rachel had left had fucked with his mind.

"Nora?" he asked in disbelief.

She walked up to him.

"Nora, Christ, you shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous!" Miles was panicked and grabbed onto her shoulders without thinking.

"Miles, there's so little to live for in this messed up world, and I'll be damned if I separate myself from the small piece of joy I've found."

Miles instantly drew her in and inhaled her hair, holding her tightly. His words were muffled, "Nora. I haven't been with anyone else since I first laid eyes on you. And that's the truth. I am sorry about what happened though. God. I'm sorrier for what I'm about to tell you."

She looked frightened and with good reason, considering the recent events they had endured together.

"I'm deserting. Tomorrow. You can't be here. This is going to get ugly."

"Then I'll help," she offered simply.

Miles was speaking so quietly that she almost couldn't hear him. "Absolutely not! It's…Jesus, Nora, it's a suicide mission. I'm not getting out of this alive." He thought, I don't deserve to-that's the whole point. "I'm going to" he swallowed so he could get the words out "kill Monroe."

Her eyes widened. "Ok. I'm helping. I just, I need to know: why?"

Miles closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment. "It's gone way too far-what I had to do to protect you and Mia, and before that…holding my own sister-in-law, Rachel, hostage for information. She tried to kill herself. I don't know if she'll make it. And all the killing. All of the terrible things this Republic has become-it's all because of me. And I can't think of how to stop it. I can only stop myself. And Monroe. And that's what I'm going to do."

Nora swallowed. "Ok, but you don't have to die. We can get you out. We can!" she insisted when he shook his head. "What is your plan?"

Miles exhaled. "I'm going to send away the top ranking officers immediately on a mission to Georgia. Then I'm going to say goodbye to my troops" his voice broke there. "I mean they won't know. I just need to see them one more time. Then when Monroe gets back tomorrow, I'll kill him. I'll get Rachel out of the hospital and then blow the main house. And then..." It was very unlikely that there would be a _then_.

Nora said, "Ok, I'm in. Once you send away the officers who recognize me, get me a uniform, so I can start setting up the explosives."

Miles said, "Nora, even if we get out of here, there'll be a bounty on your head so hefty…"

"I understand the risks. But, Miles? I love you. And I'll be damned if I don't do everything in my power to give us a shot at being together."

Miles gathered her close and looked into her eyes. "You…damn. I…" Miles had never told a woman he loved her before, at least not outside of the intimacy of a bedroom. The words got caught in his throat. He drew her in for a long, passionate kiss instead. "Fuck it, Nora. We're probably not getting out of this alive. We've got five minutes."

She smiled into his neck, and he picked her up and tossed her onto his cot. They made love, their bodies entangled so tightly that Miles couldn't have extracted his arms and legs for a fire. If it was the last time, it wasn't a bad way to go.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: And we're there! Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoy this final installment._

* * *

Nora was dressing, watching Miles sit on the edge of the cot clad only in his boxer briefs. His skin was still glowing from the heat generated by their bodies. He was furiously writing in a notebook. Her eyes traveled to the familiar M on his forearm. He could leave the militia, but he'd always bear its mark. Perhaps that was appropriate. Nora wondered with sharp trepidation what would happen to the militia without Miles as general. Things could get a lot worse for the Republic.

"Sir!" Robert suddenly called through the thick canvas of the tent without opening the flaps. "Capt. Baker to see you!"

"Just a minute!" Miles jumped up to put on his pants and whispered urgently, "You've got to hide, Nora. Under the bed. Don't make a sound."

Nora flew under the bed and felt Miles drape a blanket over the sides, obscuring her vision of the room. It was stifling under there, and she willed herself not to breathe. She heard Jeremy enter.

"Sorry, sir. Didn't know you were changing," came Jeremy's familiar, lazy drawl.

"It's fine. I was just about to come and find you anyway. I have urgent orders for you and Tom." She heard the scratching of Miles' pen again. Then his gravelly voice asked Jeremy, "Sorry-there was something you wanted?"

"No sir, urgent orders are urgent orders. What is it?" she heard Jeremy's voice thicken with concern. She braced herself for Miles' lies, hoping they'd be believable.

"I need you and Tom to ready a brigade and put down a border disturbance. It's the Georgians again."

"A whole brigade? This must be a sizable threat."

"It is. I'll send Robert with you to command with detailed orders."

"But…you're not coming? You usually come when it involves that many men."

"Can't. Rachel's hurt. She might be dying. I'm relying on you to be a good leader, Jeremy." Miles' voice was particularly raspy. "Lead from the front, don't take credit for the troops' sacrifices, reward them for their efforts. You remind them, you _impress_ upon them, that an army is a team. They're not to let stupid individualism or false bravery distract them from taking care of each other."

"Sir?" Nora heard Jeremy say with apparent confusion in his voice. "Are you dying, Miles?"

"What?" Miles' voice masked irritation.

"You're dispensing an awful lot of folksy wisdom for this mission," Jeremy responded. Nora heard a pause.

"This one's dangerous, and I want my soldiers back alive."

"They're all dangerous, Miles. Look, you don't need to make speeches to me about leadership. I've watched you all of these years. That's all I need to understand good leadership." Nora heard Miles scoff. "It's true!" Jeremy insisted. "You're like Patton, for Christ's sake! How you traveled the space from a sergeant to a general in an instant, I'll never understand."

"I didn't, Jeremy. I've fucked up more than you'll ever know. Sometimes I miss taking orders instead of giving them."

"Since, apparently this is 'Miles feels nostalgic day,' here's what I've learned from you. Do with confidence and truly love your men, your women. Love them. After every battle there you'd be, laying hands on them, thanking them, praising them, saying their names. So many fucking names! And here's the part that can't be learned: be a total badass motherfucker under all circumstances."

"Jeremy," Miles warned.

"I mean it, Miles."

"War is terrible. And I'm tired."

"I know. Me too. We all are. But it could get a lot worse, if it weren't for people like you; people who can lead."

"Ready the troops, Jeremy. I want veteran units on this one."

After a moment, the blanket was lifted to reveal Miles' dark eyes peering at Nora. "Hey," he said softly.

Nora crawled out and stood eye to eye with Miles. "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?" she asked.

Miles' face was incredibly weary. "Oh, Nora. I'm not sure of anything anymore. But it's like Jeremy said, I'm a general. I know how to commit to a plan and carry it out like it's God's own destiny. And that's what I'm going to do."

Miles fetched Nora a uniform, but insisted that she stay inside the tent until the troops had departed. It wasn't until the morning that she saw him again.

"Well come on then," Miles said to her when he had reappeared, looking haggard. "They've gone. You won't be recognized by anyone who would suspect you."

Nora felt odd dressed in the Monroe blue. The cap obscured the bright light of morning. Soldiers were milling about, each a cog in a well-oiled machine. As Miles approached, they stopped what they were doing to salute him, looks of pride and delighted surprise creeping into their faces at the general's special interest in their quotidian tasks.

Miles led Nora toward the main house, but stopped short at the sight of a squad of young troops engaged in PT. They were doing push-ups in the mud. When he walked up, the sergeant in charge looked like he was going to call them to attention, but Miles waved him off.

"Looking good, soldiers. Keep it up!" he shouted. Nora noticed contentment, even joy on his prematurely lined face. His dark eyes danced with energy.

Eventually the sergeant dismissed the troops and a few jogged up to Miles saluting happily. "Sir! General, Sir!" they called.

One stayed behind, looking like he wanted to speak to the general.

"What's your name, private?" Miles asked, smiling.

"Stevens, sir. Philip Stevens."

"Stevens, you did well out there."

"Sir, I just wanted to thank you for giving me the chance to protect the Monroe Republic. It's an honor to serve under you, sir. I've not been on campaign yet, but the officers tell stories about you. How at Trenton, you ran straight into enemy fire to retrieve a fallen soldier, and then made it back without getting hit! They said you've killed fifty men all by yourself with just a blade and on horseback, too, sir! They say you can do anything!" the soldier was babbling jubilantly. His sergeant shot him a withering glance, but Miles just laughed.

"Those stories sound true to you, Stevens?"

"Well…yes, sir. I believe it. Everybody has a different tale about how brave you are and how tough," Stevens beamed.

"I suppose legends serve their purpose," Miles said more to himself than to the private. "You just remember that the most important thing is not bravery, it's training. A disciplined soldier is a soldier who holds up to the test of battle. In the field, everyone gets scared. You must learn to act, because you don't have time to think."

"Even you get scared, General?" Stevens asked with apparent surprise.

"Even me," Miles nodded. "Private? Carry on."

Stevens looked a little unsure of what the order meant, until his sergeant snapped, "You've been dismissed, soldier!"

The sergeant briefly came over to salute and apologize. "They're very green, sir. I'm working on them."

"All good soldiers start somewhere," Miles reassured him.

After the noncommissioned officer left, Nora looked at Miles. "Your troops love you."

Miles glanced at her. "Ah, Nora. They just want to be led. They just want to be led," he repeated staring off, taking in the camp with a look of bottomless sorrow.

* * *

Everything was set. Miles was waiting in Bass's office, a few candles aglow, shadows ominously flickering on the walls. Miles felt completely dead inside. Every time a thought entered his mind, he forcibly excised it. No more thinking, only doing. He had to take his own advice. He reviewed the escape plan. Nora was going to get Rachel out and meet him with the horses, after…after Miles was finished here. They'd set off the bombs on the way out. Nora had wanted to blow up the house with Monroe in it, but Miles insisted on killing him himself. He needed to tell Bass why. He owed his best friend at least that.

Miles saw the door knob turn before he heard it. Monroe's figure suddenly darkened the doorway. Something was wrong. Bass's face looked white and hollow.

"Miles."

_Could he know? Was the truth written plainly on his face?_ Miles wondered.

Bass approached stiffly, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"I heard you sent our best men away on campaign to Georgia." The gentle voice-the one Miles knew meant nothing good. The one used to torture, to hate, to hurt.

Miles just nodded. He was afraid to speak. Afraid of what his own voice might sound like.

"A campaign I'd heard nothing about. How strange," Bass continued. His voice remained stilted and light.

"The threat just came up. I didn't have time to send word," Miles finally said hoarsely.

"Miles. We've known each other since we were little. We've known everything about each other. Our first kiss, our first lay. All those moments in combat when we were piss-pants scared. And the moments when we were bold motherfuckers. We've seen the best and the worst in each other."

Miles didn't like the sound of this speech. His mind was searching wildly for an explanation. And it fell suddenly and surely on Robert. Bass did know everything. It was too late.

Miles lunged so suddenly that Monroe collapsed under his weight. The two wrestled breathlessly for a moment, but Miles was the stronger of the two, the better fighter. He pinned Bass to the ground face down and pointed his sidearm at the back of Bass's head. Miles kept staring at his friend's golden curls, seeing the little boy instead of the man.

"Why?" Bass's voice was small beneath him.

Miles had wanted to explain, but now he hardly knew what to say. "Because…this has to stop." Miles' hand was shaking so hard, he feared he'd miss his target even at this close range.

"Before you do it, you should know…Rachel's dead, Miles. I saw the doctor before coming in here. She didn't make it." Bass closed his eyes, which had filled with tears that stuck in place.

An eternity passed with Miles' finger poised on the trigger. Miles felt Bass breathing between his legs. Alive. Part of him; always part of him. And he simply couldn't do it.

Miles got up.

There were tears in his own eyes. "I can't."

"Then don't do this, brother. Don't!" Bass begged.

"I have to go," Miles shook his head.

"No…"

As Miles made to move, Bass shouted for troops, who came pouring in the room in an instant.

Miles' eyes widened as he realized that his moment had passed.

"Miles, you'll never get out of this alive," Bass warned. But Bass didn't appear interested in shooting Miles himself.

In a flash, Miles headed for the window and jumped out two floors. He rolled to avoid harming his ankles and immediately had to fight off a number of soldiers with his swords. His soldiers. He killed several of his men, before pounding off to where Nora was waiting. As soon as he saw Nora and the horses, he realized there was no Rachel with her. Rachel was dead. He took a flying leap onto Zeppelin and hoped the horses could carry them far enough to make it to the river. They were being chased by a number of soldiers on horseback, and Miles panicked thinking that Nora might be out-ridden by his men, but she appeared to be holding her own. He and Nora turned occasionally in their saddles to fire at the men behind. Nora was an excellent shot. They made it to the river, left the horses behind, and plunged into its swirling depths.

* * *

**Coda:**

Nora and Miles had reached the very western border of the Republic, after traveling for a few months. Miles was attempting to start a fire, a difficult feat, considering the icy wind that ripped across the barren grass. Nora watched him, his strong shoulders hunched over his labor.

"So…what now?" she asked blandly into the wind. It wrenched the words from her mouth and tossed them like so many dandelion seeds flung out on their separate journeys. She and Miles had been stealing food, living as vagrants, as criminals. It was exhausting, but they were safe somehow against all odds.

Miles turned to look at her, and then he started laughing. He lay back and stared up at the endless expanse of blue, punctuated by wispy gray brushstrokes of cloud. Nora came and lay down next to him. They held hands.

"Nora Clayton, I have no fucking idea. What do you want to do?"


End file.
